


Equations and Variables

by jossujb



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Camping, Complicated Relationships, Family Angst, M/M, Mind Meld, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, Telepathy issues, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jossujb/pseuds/jossujb
Summary: Sometimes McCoy wished he could do the mind meld. It didn't seem fair that Spock could peek into people's head, while he was stuck not dealing with own mind like he owned it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally not written a Spock/McCoy fic in like seven, eight or more years! English is still not my first language, pardon me for that, and I keep on having a soft spot for Star Trek V despite everyone.

If McCoy had known Jim Kirk's concept of “wholesome outdoors time” was climbing big hunks of rock and scaring his old friends to death, he would have stayed on the space station voluntarily.

“One of these days I will drop dead from stress, and I ain't gonna go sweetly! I'll make sure I haunt his ass till he's sorry!” McCoy grumbled while Spock kept a reasonable distance, but followed him along.

“If the Captain's chosen shore leave activity is so disagreeable to your tastes, Doctor, I believe there were several other venues you could have chosen instead. I've calculated there to be approximately hundred and fifty-nine plausible alternative holiday plans, given our timetable dived by traveling options. At least twelve of them include stay in Georgia – which logically would be your most desired destination, given it is your home”, said Spock in his most dry manner possible. Familiar heat begun to grow inside McCoy's belly.

“What the hell do you think you know about my desires Spock?” he snapped, “I see you drawing equations between your pointy ears, but let me tell you one thing, in words your funny brains understand: your calculations are missing a goddamn  _variable_.”

“Is that so, Doctor?” said Spock, “My hypothesis can be only as accurate as the information available. Georgia isn't your preferred place on Earth?”

“I'm not giving you any damn clues.”

Spock stared at him with one of his trademark dissections. It made McCoy as uncomfortable as ever, like the Vulcan was digging into his frontal lobe. It's been even worse lately, after the whole Katra-thing. Spock says he doesn't really remember his conscious being inside McCoy's head, but his stare suggested otherwise. McCoy could swear he sometimes could feel Spock stare beyond the surface in a way, that felt invading somehow. Not that the thought of Spock was loathsome, far from it. McCoy just sometimes wished he could have been the one to do the mind-digging though.

After a pause, that felt like ages, Spock gave up and averted his gaze. You could almost swear he was wearing some confused emotion on his face, but sure he'd deny it.

“I see you're being irritable”, he said carefully.

“ _Damn right_ ”, said McCoy, but more than irritated he felt just weird. What was Spock trying to retrieve from his head? And more so, why did he feel _disappointed_ that he didn't find what it was?

“I will leave you to be, then.”

“Good riddance”, McCoy spit and just huffed to himself while Spock walked away. Presumably to check on what Jim was doing, giving him a dose of the annoyment treatment. For some reason McCoy didn't feel relief to be left alone. Bantering with Spock was… not unpleasant, actually. He could almost call it… uh. Mincing, maybe? It's complicated.

But more than just friendly bickering, McCoy found himself wishing the insufferable Vulcan had pressured him more. And thus he also realized, he would welcome Spock inside his head again, if it meant getting through to him. Getting through himself, as a matter of fact. If Spock saw a mess of headspace, he'd know how to put it back together. That much McCoy was sure.

Sure Jim almost killed himself a little later and Spock saved him before the dinner of beans and booze and more beans, but that's alright. He got to flex his argument muscles around the fire, and even Spock looked like he was having fun. Or maybe it was the light of the fire that was distorting his face, but McCoy did get the sense that this was the best fucking moment since… since…

God, when had it felt this way the last time? Spock has been out of the loop for so long. There was the whole Kolinahr-business, that made Spock as fun as common bream for a longish while. Then he fucking died and came back and acted like a blank slate for a bit. Only recently it felt like _the old Spock_ was back. You know, the one who would not only argue, but intentionally jab back like good Vulcan boys don't.

You can't tell McCoy that Spock was a perfect model of a Surakian Vulcan, he had had the opportunity to meet plenty of Vulcans since Spock. None of them had what it made Spock Spock. Whatever it was. When they went to sleep, the warm fuzz of a not really serious anger warmed McCoy more than the heat of the fireplace. Spock chose to lay down close to him. McCoy let him.

That was a weird night. Jumbled up dreams kept McCoy writhing in sweat. Memories of Joanna as a sweetpea of a girl, with a ponytail and legs long and thin as twigs. Some men are weekend dads, but McCoy hadn't been even that. He was more like a far-away idea of a father somewhere in cold space, while Joanna grew out of his ponytail, Georgia and eventually Earth itself. She grew into an intelligent young woman, no thanks to his father.

When McCoy stirred up all of a sudden, he felt so alone and wrong, despite being on the right side of the galaxy once is his sorry life.

Spock had moved in closer. His sleeping bag was one of those Starfleet specials, designed for species from hot climates. Still, he looked like he should have been curled upon an old-timey oven like a cat. He was sleeping though, you hardly ever saw Spock sleeping. McCoy wasn't sure if he was royally bullshitting or not by claiming that meditation was enough for him. 

Updated medical texts these days suggest that Vulcans don't actually need that much less sleep than Humans. McCoy wished he had had all the records new ship doctors had available now that more Vulcans joined Starfleet, forcing the Vulcan High Council significantly relax their secrecy. Maybe it had much to do with Spock. Before him there were no Starfleet regulationsm issuing pon farrs and mind melds and all other things Spock pulled out of his ass on a regular basis back in the original Enterprise. Doctors had it so much better now. Poor old McCoy had to rely on M'Benga, or if that wasn't enough, Spock's horseshit, and that sure hadn't been the ideal situation.

Spock was sleeping, the shadow cast on his face, so you couldn't see much than the shape of his head and body. He was facing McCoy, close enough to touch. McCoy suddenly wanted to touch him, like there was a pull towards him. It would have been inappropriate. He did reach out to kind of ghost on his shoulder. Of course Spock had to wake up to that, naturally.

“Doctor”, he said quietly.

“ _Shit_ ”, said McCoy. But instead of pulling his hand right away, he kind of let it hover there for a second. Spock lifted his hand and before McCoy had even realized what was happening, Spock was leading McCoy's palm to his face. He assisted McCoy's fingers nimbly to sit in his psi-points. McCoy had seen Spock do this several times, Spock had done this to him more than once or twice or a dozen times, but never, ever had McCoy been in this end of the mind meld.

“I'm a doctor, not psychic, I can't -” McCoy mumbled, but Spock cut him short by squeezing his wrist. Weird sensation waved over McCoy, but the direction was all wrong. It was _him_ initiating the contact. _He_ was approaching Spock's mind, not the other way around.

Has any Human ever before tried to perform a Vulcan mind meld? Shouldn't it be impossible? And _yet..._

“My mind to your mind”, McCoy groaned the familiar words he had heard Spock use, “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

Maybe it was the residue of the holding of the Katra. It must be.

He was shaking when they came together. It was the same as mind melds before, and yet it wasn't. Sure Spock probably still had an upper-hand, as he clearly was the one guiding McCoy in the act, but the sense of independence and agency made all the difference. Spock, _this Spock_ , had never been forceful with is melds, he didn't ram himself to the neural pathways leaving havoc behind, but still. McCoy hadn't ever felt completely secure with the thought, especially not after carrying his Katra. It felt like Spock had seen his mind bare, and even if he had been courteous about it, it wasn't balanced.

Not even realizing his own movements McCoy had slumped closer and now lay almost on top of Spock, both hands on his face and Spock's hands on his hands. Fucking weirdest make-out session ever, if Jim was awake on his side of the camp, he must be shitting himself.

When the meld started to break, it smoothed out gradually, leaving McCoy exhausted but good. Filled somehow. He wasn't even sure what he had seen inside Spock's head if anything, it was more like… as if he had done the speaking. Like, he had gone there to say something.

“Joanna is the variable”, said Spock suddenly, “If she's not on Earth, it doesn't matter where you are either.”

“Oh, you green-blooded son of a bitch...” McCoy gasped and pushed his head to the nook of his neck. That was inappropriate as well, but in Vulcan standards the thing they had done was as bad as boinking somebody in the back seat of a shuttlecraft, so screw it. Spock was breathing heavily.

“Gentlemen, are you strangling each other or engaging in… _other activities?_ ” asked Jim after a while they had not spoken a word. Jeez, he must have had fun listening to his best friends crawling up to each other, then moaning and gasping and fucking vibrating one on top of each other like a couple horny, but clueless teenagers. Spock might still be in the prime of his life, but McCoy sure was too old for this.

“Shut the fuck up, Jim, you saw _nothing_ ”, said McCoy, but he could still somehow sense the Captain smirking. Dumbass.

“Whatever Bones. Don't spoil my right-hand-man unusable with your sticky-sticky paws though”, he mused and McCoy was so close to getting up and spanking his ass with a frying pan. He would have, if Spock hadn't grabbed his waist and held him in his place. McCoy sighed and settled to kiss him the Human way. If he can't smack Jim around, he was determined to wreck Spock with good old Southern hickeys instead.

“Is this a way to gather up information for your stupid calculations, or are out of your Vulcan mind – again?” he hushed still wondering if it was him, who was out of his mind or not. Spock gave him a very sober pat on the back, but for a Vulcan that might as well have been a fruity romp. Or something.

“I didn't take anything you weren't eagerly willing to share on your own volition, Doctor”, said Spock, and you know, it was really nice to know there was a fair way to get through that logical skull every once in a while.

 

**FIN**


End file.
